Tales of Uruk
by Spirit of a Rose
Summary: A compilation of EnkiduXGilgamesh stories. Based off of my other story, Epic of Enkidu. Rated M for certain scenes.
1. Stars, Feasts and Jealousy

**A/N**

I apologize to everyone for not being able to update my Epic of Enkidu for so long, college is much busier than I thought! Thanks to everyone who has patiently waited. I am doing my best to finish the second chapter, but until then, this is a special treat (:

 **Stars, Feasts and Jealousy**

In the first few moons of the sickness, I was still able to move about at will.

"Gilgamesh, look." I stretch out my hand, framing a cluster of stars between my fingers. I try to imagine being able to touch them. In my last dream, I was standing among them, gazing down at the earth like a god. "So many, even more than the grain in the fields." I draw one leg up onto the broad stone sill to balance myself and lean back, tilting my head as far back as I can. The skies stretch on above me endlessly. The home of the gods. I wonder if the gods truly do exist among the stars, or if the stars themselves are the gods, those distant twinkling lights brighter than any human life.

Gilgamesh glances up briefly, more to humor me than anything. He has little interest in what is beyond his reach, I've discovered. "There are many indeed," he says, leaning back against the low stone wall. "More than man could ever know." He stirs. "Come, Enkidu. Let us cease gazing at the skies and celebrate the night. The dawn signals the beginning of the harvest season. We should be down among the people, sharing in the celebration."

 _We_. Always _we_. I can remember a time when it was only _I_ , when he spoke as though others were of little significance, as though his world composed of him alone. Now he never speaks only of himself, save in front of the people when giving a law or granting a boon. When we are together, it is always _we_ , whether it be to go hunting or train with the soldiers or feast the day away.

"Mmm," I say, not willing to leave the quiet company of the stars quite yet. "A little bit longer. You can go ahead if you wish." I smile. "The people are missing their king."

"Very well, then," he allows, settling back down against the stone. "A few more moments will not hurt. But do not tarry for too long. The people wish to see their savior as well."

I am still not sure how much I like being called a savior, when all I did was simply carry their request to the king. But Gilgamesh seems fond of the title, so I stopped objecting long ago. "Very well," I say, and go back to looking up at the stars. They truly are beautiful, a pattern that I know has meaning deep in my bones, and yet I cannot fathom it. I stretch out my hand again, tracing a line of light against the darkness, a wisp of pale cloud that shines faintly in the night, the distinct curve of the beginning of another pattern. If I close my eyes, I can almost hear their song again in the faint whisper of the wind, in the silence of the night.

Fingers brush the tail of my spine as Gilgamesh trails the back of his hand along the tips of my hair, gathering up the pale strands and playing with them idly. After a few seconds, I feel a slight tug at the base of my scalp, then another, harder one. Clearly, he is growing bored. I stifle a sigh and open my eyes again and swing my legs over the side of the sill, freeing my hair with a quick twist of my head. "Come," I say, offering him my hand. "Or else the people will begin to think their king has abandoned them."

As a jest, it is poor at best, but he is still gracious enough to smile. He reaches up and clasps my hand firmly and stands in a fluid movement, the white folds of his robe rustling. He has foregone his usual simple fold of cloth around his waist and looped over one shoulder for the feast, and wears instead a loose white robe with straight full sleeves that reach the crook of his arm and hangs to mid-calf. The collar dips down sharply into a V to show a glimpse of chest, and a band of gold hangs around his neck, more gold gleaming at his wrists. Still, for him, it is a simple attire, meant for comfort.

My attire is not so simple. Gilgamesh had originally insisted on something far richer, until I claimed my growing weariness as an excuse, saying that carrying gold and jewels that weighed more than I was tiring. Which it is, but this strange drain on my strength has not yet consumed so much as that. Mostly I just find it annoying to clink every time I move.

My illness must concern him more than he lets on, however, since our argument only lasted a few minutes and the servants had not run from the room by the time Gilgamesh finally conceded to let me wear this. It is not as simple as I would have wished, perhaps, but neither is it tiring to wear. White cloth, as fine and soft as a rabbit's fur and threaded with gold, wraps over one shoulder and around my waist to loosen around my hips and flow to my ankles. A simple pendant of a stone I have never seen before, but that matches the color of my eyes almost exactly, hangs around my throat on a gold chain. I finger it absently as I follow Gilgamesh down the wide stone corridor, past the low walls that open onto the night sky and the twining columns that hold up the roof. We pass a few servants on the broad stairway, carrying empty platters that smell of meat and drooping wineskins. My stomach growls hungrily. Gilgamesh's mouth twitches with amusement. "Hungry yet again?"

I brush past him. "Wolves eat far less," I say in my best imitation of his lofty manner.

"Perhaps, but I have seen huge men eat less at a feast and be satisfied for days," Gilgamesh remarks, smirking. I have no answer to that, so I simply glare at him. He laughs and slips an arm around my waist, his fingers brushing the stomach of my robe. "Do not worry," he says. "I will not love you less, even if you grow fatter than the wild boars that roam the mountains."

I grab his hand as it starts to travel downwards and step out of his grasp. "That will never happen," I say. Perhaps -no, it is not vanity, to be pleased with my own taut stomach when I see the women of the palace gain weight over the years and develop a certain tightness beneath their robes. Still…perhaps it would not be unwise to only eat until I am full, not until my stomach is bulging -no. Do not let him get to you. The food is very good, and therefore you shall eat it. It would be a waste not to.

"That will not happen," I repeat, and walk past him, one dignified hand on my reassuringly flat stomach. Gilgamesh only chuckles and catches up to me in one stride. The sound of chatter greets us as we enter the open plaza. The servants bow low as we draw near, the few not carrying platters to and fro kneeling and prostrating themselves before Gilgamesh as we pass. He barely glances at them, sweeping past as a waiting servant raises a carved animal horn and blows into it. The chatter falls silent as heads snap up to face us. Wooden benches clatter as the mass of people stretching from the foot of the palace to as far as the gates of Nimun kneel as one and touch their foreheads to the wooden flagstones.

I hesitate by the prostrate servants. Their foreheads are still pressed against the stone, but Gilgamesh is no longer looking, and it makes me uncomfortable to be kneeled before as if I were a god. I cast a swift glance at Gilgamesh's back and crouch and take the first servant by his folded hands. He looks up at me, startled, and instantly lowers his eyes as he recognizes me. I take his hands in mine and tug him to his feet. After years spent living with humans, I have grown used to controlling my own strength, but he still stumbles to his feet as though he'd been stung and stares at me with wide dark eyes. He looks scarce elder than I, no older than Shamhat. I offer him a tentative smile and gesture to the other kneeling servants. It takes him a moment to catch on, but he bows swiftly and hastens over to the others and begins tapping them on the shoulders and helping them up. I catch up to Gilgamesh as he holds out a hand to me. In the other he already holds a carved goblet filled with wine. He raises it high, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "To the gods!" he shouts. "A blessing for the harvest. We will celebrate this day with many sacrifices, and the gods will smile down upon us!"

"To the gods!" the crowd echoes. Gilgamesh lowers the goblet and takes a long draught, then passes it to me. Used to the ceremony by now -my part, at least, rarely changes- I take it and down the rest, then raise our clasped hands high as the crowd roars and stamps their feet on the flagstones. "To the gods!" we shout together, and the crowd dissolves into chatter once more.

A throne has been mounted on the front step of the palace. I touch the golden armrest curiously as Gilgamesh takes a seat in it, but it is not the solid gold throne from the great hall, only cedar wood gilded in gold and draped with leopard skin. A simpler chair, gilded gold but lacking the leopard skin and the high back and arms, is placed to his right. I sit down in it as servants bustle around us, offering us food and drink and taking up positions behind us to gently fan us with ostrich feathers.

A girl in the simple white tunic of their kind, her long hair spilling down her slender shoulders, kneels at my feet and offers me a carved wooden bowl full of water. Another servant is already hovering by Gilgamesh as he dries his hands on a scrap of white fabric. I nod to her and wet my hands, washing away the filth of the day. She takes the bowl back when I am finished and hands me a drying cloth. I catch her gaze flick to Gilgamesh as I take it. As expected, he does not notice, his attention already focused on the red liquid spilling into his cup from a wineskin.

I cast her a surreptitious glance through the strands of my hair as I dry my hands. She is very pretty, with fair skin untanned by hard labor beneath the sun, and the pale hair and blue eyes of the tribes beyond the sea. She must have been captured in a raid, and taken to serve in the palace. The way she looks at Gilgamesh, however, is very familiar. I have seen the same look in the eyes of the court harlots, when Gilgamesh no longer welcomed them into his bedchamber.

I shift uncomfortably. The girl looks back hastily to me and takes the cloth and bows low. She casts one final, wistful glance at Gilgamesh before retreating into the shadows of the pillars on either side. I watch her go, slightly troubled, as Gilgamesh turns to me.

"Enkidu, you have barely touched your food, and your cup is yet empty," he says, surprise flickering across his face. "What is the matter? Do you feel ill?" He leans forward, concern creasing his brow, and presses a warm palm to my forehead. "I do not sense a fever." He frowns. "If it is the jest I made earlier that is bothering you, do not worry. It was merely a jest, nothing more." He touches my cheek. "You are still the most beautiful woman in all the kingdom."

I highly doubt that -I have seen other women at court whose beauty far surpass mine- but the compliment makes me smile, all the same. For the king who believes himself to never be wrong to come so close to apologizing must mean that he truly is concerned about me. "I am fine," I say. "And you must think me fragile indeed if that poor jest could make my appetite suffer." I brush his hand away. "I was thinking, that is all."

"A poor jest, hmm?" He chuckles, his good mood restored. "Perhaps, but you did not seem to think so at the time. Still, you have no need for concern. You are worthy of a king's love, after all. Do not forget that." His gaze flickers, a familiar expression clouding his crimson eyes, and I know he is thinking of later tonight, when the feast is over and we retire to his bedchamber.

I play with a bunch of grapes on my platter. "So I am merely one of many to you?"

Gilgamesh looks surprised. "What do you mean?"

I hesitate. I do not know how to describe this feeling, this strange uncomfortableness in the pit of my stomach. This wish that I had not seen the way the girl looked at him. "Before I came to the palace, there were many other women you loved in such a way, were there not?"

"Of course." As usual, Gilgamesh is far more comfortable breaching the subject than I. "I did not know you then, and it is natural for a man to seek pleasure among women. The king particularly so. However," -he holds up a hand- "they were merely a source of pleasure. I have never loved, save one. So do not be jealous, Enkidu. It ill becomes you."

"Jealous?" I have a vague recollection of Shamhat mentioning the word, but I do not remember what it means. "What is that?"

Gilgamesh seems amused by my ignorance. "Jealousy. To be envious of someone. It is only natural." He settles back comfortably in his throne. "But there is no need for concern. I love only you, Enkidu. You are the only one who is worthy, who has claimed my attention. I will never love another." He leans forward and cups my cheek, his crimson gaze intent. "You, and you alone."

I am still a little puzzled -is this feeling jealousy? I do not fully understand it. But I let him kiss me anyway, closing my eyes briefly as he slips his hand around to the nape of my neck and kisses me once more, firmly, and draws back. The glint is back in his eyes. "If you are not hungry, perhaps we shall leave the feast early," he murmurs, his breath warm against my cheek. That settles it. I scoot back against my chair, one arm placed protectively around my platter. "I am hungry," I say. "Very hungry."

Gilgamesh sighs and relaxes back again. "Very well. Later, then." His tone brooks no argument. I decide I will debate that matter after I have eaten. "Here. Try this." I open my mouth obediently, and he pops something round into it. Spices explode on my tongue. I chew contentedly.

Then again, if he continues to introduce me to foods such as these, perhaps I will not debate it after all.


	2. Yearning

**A/N**

A scene from Gilgamesh's perspective. Slight angst & typical Gilgamesh arrogance.

 **Yearning**

He watches her sleep that night, curled up contentedly by the crackling embers, the dusky moonlight catching on a stray strand of her long pale hair and turning it to liquid starlight. She sleeps perfectly still, her knees tucked almost to her chin, huddled close to his feet. He remembers watching her as she watched the flickering flames, her pale bronze eyes, as beautiful and serene and aloof as the dawning sky, dull, their spark gone. She did not speak for a long time, and sensing her need to be alone, he allowed the silence to continue, until at last she murmured something about being tired and plopped herself down by him and curled up next to him as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

He can feel her warmth now against his leg as he sits, one leg propped loosely up, his arm resting lightly on his knee, the heat from the fire stark against the bitter night chill at his back. The stone outcropping overhead is little more than a low shelf of jagged rock, doing little to shield him from the cold. He misses his bed back at the palace, the carved marble headboard and columns draped in crimson cloth and the finest white silk, the mattress stuffed with swan down and the sandalwood burning in the braziers. It seems impossible to him how Enkidu grew up in a cave just like this one, with only wild beasts for company. He is the king, after all, deserving only of the best, and she is the only one who has ever been able to stand before him, which in his eyes makes her no less deserving of the same. She should have grown up in a majestic palace, surrounded by wealth and tended to by servants, not in some pathetic hole in the ground that reeks of wolf stench.

At his side, he feels her stir and glances down, away from the flames. Enkidu curls up tighter, pressing her back against his leg as she moans softly in her sleep. Light shimmers on her cheek as a tear slips down her skin and vanishes into the dirt. He reaches down and brushes it carefully away, gently so as not to wake her. She is so beautiful when she is asleep, her eyes closed and her long pale lashes curving across the lightly tanned skin of her cheek, her long hair sprawled around her in a wild tangle of waves. He enjoys admiring her like this. When she is awake she always catches him watching her and either narrows her eyes at him until he stops or simply races away, bounding lightly over stones and scrub brush with her long hair streaming behind her, her face tilted into the wind.

She moans again, softly. The sound is so sad that he touches her shoulder. She wakes at his touch, her head darting up, her pale eyes wild for a moment before focusing on his face, her tense frame easing again. "Gilgamesh?" she whispers, and reaches up to touch the wet trails on her cheeks, her eyes widening. "Tears...?" she says, startled.

He leans back against the rock, bracing his arms lazily on his knees. "Were you dreaming?"

"Yes." She frowns, her brow crinkling. "At least, I think so. But why are there tears?"

"It must have been a sad dream," he says, watching her. Her gaze flickers. "Yes," she says softly. "Yes, I remember now. I was dreaming, but I could not hear the voices anymore. I was in the sky, and I could see the city, but I was alone. The animals would not come to me anymore." She draws her knees up to her chest and hugs them, resting her chin on her knees. "But it was not a dream," she whispers, no longer speaking to him. "I woke up, and I am still all alone." Another tear leaks out of her eyes and falls silently down her cheek. She sniffs and wipes it away with the heel of her hand, but another one follows. She buries her head in her knees and lets them flow, her shoulders trembling. He could hear the sobs she was trying to keep silent.

He waits until she has finished. It is almost dawn when she raises her head again, her eyes red and swollen, tangled strands of hair clinging to her damp cheeks. Her beauty is not lost in them. Indeed, there's something in her sudden frailty that draws him, that wakens an urge in him to go to her and claim her for his own, to wipe her tears away and run his fingers through that soft pale hair and caress her skin until she laughs again, to make her his, not as some human girl or temple prostitute, but as Enkidu, as the warrior and friend he sees.

"You are not alone," he says. "You live among humans now. They are foolish, and weak, but they are better than beasts. You alone stand by my side."

 _Isn't that enough?_ he wants to ask _. Are not I enough?_

Enkidu does not answer, just looks at the dying embers, her gaze dull. A final tear slips out of the corner of her eye and falls to the dusty ground.


	3. Afraid

**A/N**

Enkidu has a nightmare. Gilgamesh wants to distract her. Warning: Contains explicit material.

 **Afraid**

 _Do not be afraid._

Sheets rustle behind me in the darkness. I don't move, my chin propped on my knees, nibbling pensively on my lower lip as the words from my dream echo in my mind. The sense of foreboding grows.

Strong, lightly tanned fingers trail along the curve of my shoulder as he moves up behind me. I exhale slowly, his name like a sigh. "Gilgamesh."

"What is the matter?" he asks, although he sounds more focused on the taste of my skin as he presses a kiss to the nape of my neck. "Another dream?" His fingers dance down my side, leaving a trail of warmth, his lips already traveling down my back. I close my eyes and just feel his touch, the hidden strength in his hands as he cups my waist and shifts until I am pressed up against his lap, his fingers brushing away the pale strands of my hair to nibble my neck.

"Gilgamesh?" I say softly without opening my eyes.

"Hmm?" He's barely listening. I can feel him harden against me, his kisses growing hungrier as he nips the shell of my ear. Any longer and I will lose him completely. I shift. "Have you ever been afraid?"

He draws back a little. "Of course not. None have ever had the strength to challenge me. Save you." He leans forward again, his heavy-lidded gaze intent on my lips, but I twist away, turning to see him more clearly. "No, not of someone." I fumble, seeking to explain the foreboding inside of me with a language that still limits me, even years later. "Just…afraid."

Gilgamesh draws back again, the hint of a frown tugging at his mouth. "Enkidu, of what foolishness have you been dreaming of? None are stronger than you and I. It was merely a dream. Come, stop denying me and forget whatever you dreamed of. There is no cause for fear." His words are hot against my cheek as he pulls me back into his embrace. "We are heroes, you and I. This is a time for celebration, not for fear. Leave your foolish worries behind and enjoy the night with me. Or must I drive the fear away by force?" His crimson eyes glint. He's already wrapping his fingers in my hair and pulling my head back to devour my mouth before I can answer.

Perhaps he is right, I think distractedly, the foreboding already vanishing as heat flares in the pit of my stomach. Perhaps it was merely a dream.

My gut twists sharply, but it's easy to ignore as I tilt my head back farther and wrap one arm around his neck. Gilgamesh is already reaching down to stroke between my legs, one hand cradling my chin, and it would be so easy to lose myself in him, but the foolishness taunt still hovers in my thoughts, even if it was merely his way of reassuring me. I break away as he moans hungrily and presses me closer, his loincloth falling away.

"Oh?" I say very softly against his lips. "Foolishness?" My fingers trail down his length, eliciting a tiny moan. I love how easy it is now to simply touch him and have him melt against me, to know exactly what he likes. Here, alone, the mighty king is a simple lover. Here, he is only mine, and none have ever had him the way I do. I let go, and he slants me a glare even though his heart is quickening against my side. He reaches for me again, but I beat him to it, teasing him with quick, light strokes and caressing his skin briefly before retreating to the other side of the bed before he can halt me.

Gilgamesh growls low in his throat and pounces with lightning speed. Then he is over me, my wrists pinned to the rumpled sheets as he dips down, his burning crimson gaze locking onto mine. "Do not seek to taunt your king," he murmurs against my cheek, and nips my shoulder roughly. His hands travel over my skin, devouring every inch, and I give in.

The foreboding is gone when I open my eyes again, Gilgamesh's arm warm around my waist, his chin still pressed to my shoulder and his silky hair brushing my cheek.


	4. The Dream

**A/N**

Procrastinating on my other story _Sick Days_ , so for all you lucky Enkidu fans, here you go! A little teaser for the ending...assuming we ever get there (:

This time, when I dream, I am not among the stars but the gods themselves.  
I am standing in the center of a clearing. The air is high and sharp, as it was in the mountains, but there are trees all around, their great, furling trunks bent into the unmistakable shapes of thrones. Figures no larger than those of humans are seated in them.  
I recognize the woman to my right first. She is tall, breathtakingly beautiful, an aura of power settled around her like a cloak, but her long golden hair, her fair skin and slanted catlike crimson eyes, even the regal tilt of her chin are all very familiar. I bow low, as the farmers do before Gilgamesh. "Nimun," I say.  
She smiles. When she speaks, I hear the voice from my dreams. "Enkidu," she says. "It is very good to see you face to face."  
The figure directly ahead of me shifts. Although unmistakably male, he shares the same exotic, regal features as Nimun, the same aura of power and beauty. "Enkidu," he says, his voice a low rumble that shakes the earth beneath my feet and shudders in my bones. I have the feeling that if a human heard his voice, they would dissolve beneath the heavy drum-beat of it. As it is, I have to grit my teeth to withstand the shudder that ripples through my bones. "Do you know why you are here?"  
I shake my head. The man raises a dark brow. Around me, the other throned figures shift restlessly. The air grows taut with tension.  
The man opens his mouth, but it is Nimun who speaks. "You are dying," she says, her low, fluting voice soft.  
I do not move. The Judge settles back in his throne. "Yes," he says, and the very word causes the air to shudder. "Do you know why?"  
I shake my head again.  
"Ishtar," Nimun answers, her voice suddenly hard. Anu's expression doesn't change. "Ishtar has been offended," he says.  
"Ishtar is always offended," Nimun mutters.  
"Nevertheless," Anu says evenly, "it is a grave insult, to refuse a god. Gilgamesh may be your son, Nimun, but he is still half-mortal, and as such is partially under the law of man. As a man, his deed is punishable by death."  
"Ishtar cannot complain," Nimun says tightly. "Look at her former lovers. She chased the lion, and now he is hunted and snared under her urging. The stallion she loved is now ruled by man. Even the shepherd boy who worshiped her was eventually punished and turned into a wolf. Ask Tammuz, if you do not believe me. Ask him what Ishtar does to those who dare to love her. Can you blame my son for refusing her?"  
"Pardon, my lord," I say before Anu can answer. "But what does this have to do with me?"  
Anu sighs heavily. "Ishtar is furious. She demands that both of you be punished, or else she will open the gates of the underworld and release chaos upon the world. Gilgamesh, as a son of heaven, is protected from her wrath. That is the law, and no threat can overcome it. But you..." He lets the words hang thickly in the air.  
"I am a tool of heaven." I supply the missing words flatly, tonelessly. "I am a fake. Even my creator cannot give me worth. Is that it?"  
Anu shifts. For the first time, his expression changes. The Judge looks guilty.  
It is Nimun who answers. "Gilgamesh will live," she says, her scarlet gaze meeting mine steadily. "Even Ishtar cannot change that. I will not allow her to. But I cannot go against the law. Someone must pay the price of Ishtar's wrath." She hesitates, a split second, no more. "You and my son fought to spare your people," she says, quieter now. "You have proven your right. The people will be spared. But someone must still pay."  
The words sink in slowly, heavily. "But Gilgamesh will be spared?" I ask. "He will live?"  
Nimun's smile is small. "He will live."  
I stand a little straighter. "Then I will fight, for his sake."  
"The curse cannot be broken," Anu says. "You will return to that from which I made you."  
I shrug. "Maybe so," I say, and look at him so that he can see the flash of defiance in my gaze. "But even so, I will fight."  
Nimun laughs softly. "You are truly my son's friend," she says, and I smile a little. Anu stands. "Then fight," he says. "And Enkidu...I truly am sorry."  
"Thank you, my lord," I say stiffly, and Anu and Nimun turn away, Nimun with one final smile. Her words echo after me as the edges of the forest begin to fade. "And Enkidu...thank you."  
I open my eyes. Bright crimson eyes hover above me, and for a moment I think I'm still dreaming. Then Nimun's son frowns, and reality comes crashing back.  
"Enkidu?" Gilgamesh says. I sit up. My legs move stiffly. My skin is cool to the touch. My breath catches a little.  
"Enkidu," Gilgamesh says impatiently. "Whatever is the matter?"  
I put a hand to my pounding skull. My bones ache, as though Anu's voice is still shuddering through them. "What happened?"  
"I was telling you of my first battle and you fell asleep." Gilgamesh is obviously annoyed. "And then I could not wake you."  
I finally look at him. His pale brows are drawn together, tiny creases between them. His slanted gaze is petulant, and despite the dream I have to fight back a tiny smile.  
"My apologies, my king," I say. "Your story wasn't boring, of course -it's just the heat, and the sun..."  
Gilgamesh glares at me. "It's long past the harvest season, and the sun has nearly set. If my harrowing tale of battle bores you, Enkidu, by all means tell me."  
"Oh, but I wouldn't dream of it," I say brightly, and stand before he can say anything. My legs are still stiff. I barely take a step before they crumple. My arm slams into the cold stone and I gasp in pain.  
"Enkidu!" Gilgamesh lifts me up. "What is wrong? Are you ill?" The petulance is gone. His expression is worried as he sets me carefully down on the bed. I push myself up, shaking my head. "Just a slip," I lie, trying for a smile. Gilgamesh looks at me for a long moment. "I have seen you fall before," he says. "You always catch yourself. I have never seen you clumsy." He takes my hand in both of his and squeezes it gently. "Enkidu, you are my only friend," he says, and I can hear the hurt in his voice, no matter how hard he tries to disguise it. "You have never sought to lie to me before. Do not begin now."  
I look into his eyes and sigh. "I am not feeling well," I admit, and look away as worry creases his forehead again. "I will send for a healer," he says briskly. "It is but a small sickness. You shall soon be well again." He squeezes my hand, searching for reassurance in my face. I don't meet his gaze. "Of course," I say, and manage a smile.  
He gives me a quick kiss on the forehead and walks out to call a slave. I watch him go.  
He gets so worried over the littlest things sometimes. I don't like seeing him worry.  
Will he cry? The thought comes suddenly. When I die, will he weep? Will the king who rejects his humanity mourn like a man for his friend?  
I clench my fingers in the white sheets. I don't want him to cry. I don't want to inflict that pain on him. I don't want to leave him alone again.  
Perhaps...perhaps this is what comes of loving a tool. Of giving the fake worth. Perhaps this is my fault.  
But I do not want to die. I want to live together with Gilgamesh. I want to stay here. Even if I'm a fake, even if I'm worthless, I want to live.  
Am I worthless? If I die, will I be forgotten?  
Sudden anger sparks inside me. I am not a tool, I think fiercely. I will show them that. Even if I die, I will not let the gods simply erase me. I will not be forgotten.  
The memory of the tablets flashes through my mind. The histories.  
"Gilgamesh?" I call after him. "Ask them to fetch a tablet and pen. I want to write something."


End file.
